


Sitrep

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), Boffin1710



Series: Moments of Life in the Shadows [30]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/pseuds/Boffin1710





	Sitrep

**Q…**

The coppery smell of blood is prevalent, even overwhelming the scent of an all too familiar cologne.  My hands press into his chest trying to stop the flow of blood.

“Status on extraction team.” I am demanding of R and getting a reply that I am utterly unsatisfied.  I am barking out orders to R and she into is doing the same to others.

“Q…” his voice faintly rasped and he gasped for air.  “I… you need to….”

“Don’t you dare!” I snarl down at him.  “Not in the mission specs.”

I press my hands harder, slick with red that doesn’t look real and yet.   The monitors on my work station about us flash  maps, flight patterns, screen after screen of intel.  Why is he on the floor in front of my workstation?  He’s three countries away.  Isn’t he?

“Q…. I never… It’s not your…”

“No!  Do.Not.Say.It!”  R is calling to me with a sitrep on the extraction team’s ETA.  Somewhere I hear Tanner’s voice talking to M on the phone.

His gurgles as he tries to keep breathing.  A small trickle of blood appears at the corner of his mouth.

“Damn you!  You are not leaving me like this!”

With a gasp, I am frantically flailing away, hands buried in clean white bedding.   My glasses are somehow gone but in the dimmed soft lighting around me I realise that I am not in Q Branch.

This has to be medical.  

The beeping of the machines.

The whooshing sound of a ventilator.

The soft voices of the Medical Staff on the other side of the room.

I am curled up in a lumpy chair that has a footrest you can pull out, which someone has done taking pity on me.

And, he is in the bed next to the chair.

Alive.

Barely.

But alive.

My hand curled around his...  And it all comes flooding back to me.

“Quartermaster…” I jerk up as a soft voice appears at my left.  “Your glasses are in your shirt pocket if you are looking for them.  I removed them when you dosed off.”

**Tanner...** ****  
  
While the Quartermaster sleeps I review medical reports, mission reports, and finally, out of boredom, budget reports.  Most are not strictly my remit, but M is still with the PM and Home Secretary, and Moneypenny volunteered to visit Q's flat to fetch some clean clothing, so I am mucking in.  And keeping busy.   
  
This becomes like an extended dysfunctional family after a time.  The Agents, regardless of age or seniority, are like unruly children, earning the wrath of 'mother', and a dressing down from 'father'.  Indeed, to some, M has been an unconventional parental replacement, and Q... well, the relationship he has built with all of the agents is occasionally paternal for the simple reason his maturity exceeds theirs.     
  
But for the select few...  Bond, Trevelyan, Moneypenny.  Perhaps even M and myself to a lesser degree.  For those few, Q will move mountains, bring down governments, destroy nations.  And I cannot help but respect him for that.   
  
When I entered he was already sound asleep, slumped over the medical bed with glasses askew.  I removed them, tucked them in his pocket.  A nurse helped me rearrange him in the chair so he was more comfortable and he didn't even stir.  The man in the bed was almost lost.  I think we would lose Q too.     
  
Someone needs to be here for him.  Someone needs to quietly keep watch.  That someone, is me.


End file.
